Nosophobia
by Ochiba Konpeki
Summary: Phobophobia: Nosophobia, fear of being sick. Kyle's always sick. Style.


_This was kind of weirdly written. Not sure what I was thinking. _

_Nosophobia is fear of being sick. It seems incomplete, but that's because it's a twoshot. Style._

**Nosophobia**

_He who fears to suffer, suffers from fear. ~French Proverb _

"I'm not sick!" Kyle slurred, struggling weakly against Kenny's arms, striking out at random. His face was deathly pale, his limbs were weak and shaky, and his eyes, clouded and bloodshot, were lined with vicious exhaustion bruises. A weak fist caught Kenny in the eye and startled him, causing him to halfway drop him onto the table he'd been walking past. "I'm not!" he insisted as he was transferred from Kenny's grasp to Eric's.

The teacher was frozen in horror, eyes wide as he watched the two boy's restrain the obviously very ill child on the table in front of him as the class gathered nearby anxiously. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" Kenny snarled as he tried to pin the frantically writhing teen to the tabletop, "Somebody find Stan!"

Butters _eep_'d and ran off, presumably to do just that, and Kyle caught Eric in the throat, prompting the frustrated neo-nazi to flip him over on his back and twist his arms behind him, pinning his wrists together over his lower back and demanding duct-tape. Some fuck tossed it to him-_probably Craig_-and Eric made quick work of rendering his arms useless as Kenny worked to immobilize his legs.

Kyle continued to struggle wildly, incoherent protests leaving his lips, until, with firm grasps on the scruff of his neck, his shoulders, the small of his back, his knees and his ankles, he was rendered completely immobile. At this point he went limp and began to sob desperately, insisting through his heavy tears that he wasn't sick, interrupted by heavy coughing fits from the exertion.

Stan burst in then, eyes wide and bright with worry, trailed by Butters. He took in the sight of his super-best friend crying as he was pinned to the table by Eric, Kenny, Craig and Token and assertively strode forward, the crowd parting to let him through, to stand near ill teen's head.

The classroom was near silent apart from Kyle's whimpers. His eyes were dull and unseeing and his hair, usually clean and lively, hung limp and looked unwashed and unbrushed, but that didn't stop Stan from stroking it gently. "Kyle, what's wrong?" he asked lowly, receiving a drunken, tear-roughened reply of, "I'm _not_sick!"

Kyle had spent most of his life sick.

"Of course not." Stan patronized, recognizing that Kyle was near panic-attack mode. "You're the picture of health, Ky. C'mon... Guys, let him up, somebody cut the tape."

Soon Kyle was sitting upright on the desk, rubbing his eyes like a child and periodically succumbing to a hacking cough that made everyone present flinch in sympathy. He was still crying lightly and Stan covered his knees with his palms, squeezing reassuringly and smiling at the top of his super-best's head. "I'm n-n-not sick." he cried again, shoulders shaking. He almost appeared to have been drugged.

"Not sick at all." Stan agreed, earning snorts from Craig and Eric and a _seriously? _expression from Bebe. "C'mon, it's time for school to be over. Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk." he mumbled, slipping to the floor and immediately swooning, tipping sideways only to be caught by Wendy and offered back to Stan, who hoisted him up bridal-style. "It's only third period." he observed confusedly, seemingly not noticing that he'd been picked up. The others exchanged worried glances. It was first period.

OoO

He was unconscious before Stan even made it to the office, though weak coughing fits continued to wrack his limp form. The secretary stared at him with clear pity and it pissed Stan off to know that if Kyle was awake, he'd tell her "Pity costs nothing and ain't worth nothing." in his best impression of how he thought Josh Billings might've said it.

It was a while before Mrs. Marsh arrived. Mrs. Broflovski was gone with her husband to some formal thing up in Denver. _Lawyers sharing the best recipes for blood. _They were quiet as the laid Kyle in the backseat of the minivan and drove to the Broflovski residence.

"Damn." his mother whispered, staring at the house. With a sigh and a glance at her son, Mrs. Marsh restarted the car, heading back to her own home. At her son's questioning look, she murmured, "I keep forgetting that we have the Broflovski boys for the weekend. Some sort of dinner thing up in Denver they absolutely had to attend... To be honest, I wasn't really listening. I was yelling at your god-forsaken father. Is Bar Night Saturday really so important as to completely miss a planned date-night?"

Over the years, as Stan got older, he became his mother's friend more than her son. He didn't mind, though. It made him feel important. "Well..." Stan drawled, looking at his mother out of the corner of his eye, "Dad was planning on skipping out on it... But one of his buds is filing for divorce. So they dedicated the evening to cheering him up."

The hard line of his mother's mouth softened and he inwardly cheered. "Oh, and... Keep next Friday evening free." he tacked on, watching his mother's pretty face fade into a lovestruck smile. It made him happy that his parents were still so in love, unlike Kyle's or Kenny's, and still together, unlike Eric's.

OoO

Kenny called the moment school let out. Stan had been sitting at his desk, bent over his Biology homework, with Kyle knocked out on the bed. Mrs. Marsh had left the caretaking up to him, and he was taking Kyle's temperature at regular intervals. It had risen from one oh one point seven to one oh three point two in the last couple hours, and he'd decided Kyle was going to the hospital if it rose past one oh four point five.

Back to Kenny's call, though.

"Dude, what was up with Kyle?" was the first thing Kenny said. "I haven't seen him that upset over being sick since the eighth grade when he caught strep for the third time is six weeks and freaked the fuck out when we tried to take him home."

"I think," Stan replied cautiously, "That he caught the flu, accidentally overdosed on Nyquil, and tripped off into never-never land."

"Everybody in school is convinced he did a belly flop off the deep end." Kenny chuckled. "Anyway, what'll you guys do now?"

"He'll wake up-eventually-and cry for a good half an hour over being sick, then he'll get sulky and angry about his fucked-up immune system, then he'll go back in denial about being sick and try to get up tomorrow, and when we won't let him, he'll go quiet and compliant and do his best impression of a tired kitten until he's better."

Kenny chuckled. "Its scary how well you know him... How well he knows you. I'll be there in a few minutes... And I think Cartman is tagging along. Cartman? ... You can't hit a sick person. ... Why would want to? ... It's not worth anything if they're unconscious. ... You scare me. Hey, Stan, help me make sure Eric isn't left alone with Kyle."

Stan grimaced. "Alright."

Kenny hung up. He never says goodbye to anybody.

OoO

Kyle cracked his eyes open slowly. His throat and eyes felt like sandpaper and he groaned. All of his limbs felt weak and useless and it took a second for him to motivate himself into sitting up, eyes squeezed shut with the effort. Immediately, a large, sturdy, warm hand pressed against his chest and his arms gave out, drawing a distressed noise from his sore throat. He pushed himself up again only to be met with the same results.

"I am on such a fucking power high." he heard vaguely and opened his eyes completely at last to see Kenny watching Eric wearily, said brunette staring down at him with a mildly sadistic glint in his eye. "Look at him. Weak as a newborn kitten. I could do anything to him and he'd just have to take it."

Kyle's brow furrowed. _Nuh-uh, I'm not weak... _He sat up again, a little more forcibly, and Eric shoved him down again. Kenny sighed, deciding to let Eric enjoy it for the moment, at least until he realized he was overpowering an invalid. The hoodrat felt kind of bad for the sick teen as he was shoved down again and again, obviously not understanding what was going on. Eventually, with a slightly evil smile, Eric just left his palm as a permanent restraint, his large, calloused palms and long, oddly elegant digits resting heavily on Kyle's heaving chest. He could feel his heartbeat quicken as he struggled weakly under the hold.

After several long moments of silence-apart from Kyle's noises of fear and distress-the redhead clasped his hands around Eric's wrist and ring finger and fell still. His eyes, closed throughout most of the futile battles, opened up a slit and he croaked confusedly, "C-Cartman? Am I... Sick?"

He sounded vulnerable and small and guilt flooded the neo-nazi's face as he withdrew. Kenny smirked inwardly, taking Kyle's small, trembly hand in his, and murmured gently, "Yeah, Kyle... You're sick."

The effect was instantaneous. His eyes flooded with tears and his face crumpled. This time, when he sat up, Eric remained still, allowing him to curl in on himself and shake and sob under Kenny's arm. "Shh." the blond soothed, rubbing up and down his back. "Shh."

There wasn't much else to say. Kyle would always be sickly. Kyle would probably always cry. And probably, Kenny thinks as the teen in question wanders in with a damp rag and a sympathetic smile, Stan would always be there for him, with his immune system of reinforced stainless steel.

"C'mon." he coaxed, pressing lightly on his shaking shoulders, "Lay back." Kyle started to follow orders but jerked in a sudden onslaught of brutal coughing, a painful-sounding, wracking, dry cough that was probably tearing his throat to shreds. "_Water_." he requested weakly, voice hoarse. Stan immediately grabbed a glass from the nightstand, cupping Kyle's cheek gently as he carefully pressed the glass to his lips and let the water slide down his throat, drawing a pleased noise from the redhead.

Kenny and Eric watched in fascination as Stan gently pulled the glass away, scolding Kyle when he whined pathetically at the loss, wiping at his tears clumsily. "You'll make yourself sick, honey." he cooed, setting the glass on the table and gently lowering the sickly form to lay back. Kyle let his eyes fall shut, though tears still occasionally seeped through, and Stan rubbed the cool washcloth over his face gently, wiping away the sweat and tears.

"You mother hen, you." Kenny teased, taking a seat on Kyle's bed as the redhead drifted off to sleep again and rubbing comfortingly along his leg. Eric sat as well, eyes fixed on the weezy way his chest rose and fell beneath the quilt the self-assigned nurse tucked around him.

"I think I want to go to medical school when I'm older and become a doctor or a nurse." Stan replied cordially, leaning down to press his lips against Kyle flushed face three times-on either cheek and his forehead. "One oh three point five." he announced to the other two.

"Bullshit." Eric challenged, scowling. "You can't take his temperature like that."

"I can." Stan defended, tossing Eric the oral thermometer resting on the table. "Check his temp. I bet I got it within a half a point."

Eric looked between the thermometer to the sleeping Jew blankly. "What?"

"Go ahead." Stan urged. "Slide your knuckle between his lips and his teeth and place the end under his tongue carefully. Go on!"

Eric looked between Kenny and Stan desperately, expecting somebody to give him a way out, say _'Just kidding, dude!'_, but all he received were expectant looks. He gulped. _Goddamn pride. _He looked down at the slumbering ginger determinedly, hesitantly pressing the second knuckle of his right pointer finger to his lips, parting them easily. He nudged his teeth apart clumsily, a bizarre expression stuck on his face, and slowly slid the glass rod under his tongue, holding it there under Stan's instructions.

Kenny chuckled a little at his almost pained expression as Stan timed the thermometer.

Eric pulled back as though burned the second he got the okay and read triumphantly, "One oh three point seven." Realization clicked on his face as Stan smirked at him. "For fuck's sake."

Kenny looked anxious. "Isn't that kind of high?" he fretted, picking nervously at his nails. Stan shot him a reassuring smile. "Kind of." he admitted, "But we'll hold off panic until he reaches one oh four point five."

OoO

Eventually, Kenny and Eric left, and Stan was left to his own devices. Kyle, on the rare occasions he woke up, asked for water and sulked until he fell back asleep. The raven took to stroking his super-best's hair and back while he slept and reading to him when he was awake. Even if he didn't voice it, he knew Kyle appreciated it. And yeah, tomorrow Kyle would throw a fit about being taken to the doctor. And yeah, he would do all this over again next time he got sick. And yeah, Kyle had a severe fear of hospitals and would scream and cry and make a scene when he was told he was being taken to a one. That's okay. Stan loves him, after all.

**TBC in Nosocomephobia**

_Alright, people! I want more suggestions! Up and coming are Dentaphobia, Isolophobia, the sequel, Nosocomephobia, and Dishabiliophobia. You guys get to decide what pairing I choose for Dishabiliophobia! **QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS? ****REVIEW!**_


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